


Road Trip

by DarkMoonMaiden



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Friends to Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 08:52:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11963985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkMoonMaiden/pseuds/DarkMoonMaiden
Summary: Peter goes on a cross-country road trip during the summer to scatter Uncle Ben’s ashes, and ends up being joined by Wade, a hitchhiker who is actually a mercenary on the run from a job gone bad.





	Road Trip

**Author's Note:**

> The AMAZING art is by the awesome zactopus93 on tumblr. Holy crap. It's so wonderful. Go give them a follow because hot dayum.
> 
> Also thank you for the wonderful beta, Cliophilyra here on AO3. She helped me out SO MUCH. A total lifesaver <3 
> 
> This is the second piece I did for the spideypool big bang :) I definitely didn't mean for it to turn out this long, but well. It did. So i'll apologize in advance for it's length. It's the longest oneshot I've EVER written :"D

  

It wasn’t until after Peter’s sophomore year of college that he finally decided to do it.

The little box of ashes had been sitting on the mantle for over three years. Every time Aunt May walked past it, she would stare sadly at it, running her hand over its smooth, black surface and the small brass plate engraved with Uncle Ben’s name.

When his uncle had first died, Aunt May had told Peter numerous times that they would go and scatter the ashes.

“We’ll do it soon, I promise,” she would say. “When you graduate high school. We’ll do it then.”

The promises continued until Aunt May collapsed only a couple of weeks before his high school graduation, clutching her chest. The heart attack didn’t cause any lasting damage, but the doctor told her that she would have to keep an eye on her heart rate, and that any travel was not recommended for the near future.

“Maybe after you’re done with college, honey,” Aunt May had told Peter softly from the hospital bed. Peter squeezed her hand without replying.

He missed his high school graduation, and spent most of the summer with Aunt May at home, taking care of her and getting ready for college. Gwen was there when she could be, but she was busy in California with her own life and college work.

And then college was a whole other demon. The constant work left him ragged and barely eeking by with the grades he needed. After a grueling first year, he wasn’t able to slow down. He continued to care for Aunt May and along with his photography he took a job at Starbucks to help pay the bills.

The next year of college was when he felt himself nearing his breaking point. After he was put on academic probation in the fall semester, he tried to pull himself together, but everything continued to spiral, and just as the spring semester ended, he withdrew in a last ditch effort to not be expelled and save his own sanity.

“It’s alright, Peter,” Aunt May had said soothingly, running a hand through his hair as he sat next to her on the couch. “These things happen. Don’t worry about the money, we’ll figure something out.” She held his hand as he choked back sobs.

A couple of weeks after that incident, as he drank his morning cup of coffee and watched television, the epiphany hit him. Aunt May didn’t even get out a ‘good morning’ before he blurted out his idea.

“I’m gonna drive out to Utah and spread Uncle Ben’s ashes.”

***

And that’s how he ended up here--in a gas station attached to a diner, right off of the interstate, with no other signs of civilisation for miles.

“Yeah, I’m just taking a break right now,” he said, balancing his phone between his shoulder and his ear as he picked up a bag of chips. “I’m gonna have breakfast, and then I’m hoping to drive at least another five hours before calling it a day--no, I’m not speeding, Aunt May. _Yes_ , I’m being careful.”

He continued to try to allay his aunt’s fears as he checked out with his snacks and made his way into the diner connected to the convenience store.

“It’ll still probably take about ten days to get all the way there,” Peter continued as he sat down. He mouthed a ‘thank you’ at the waitress as she poured him some coffee. “Yes, I’m still doing fine--Aunt May, I’m not _sixteen_ . I _know_ it’s dangerous, but--who was supposed to go with me? No one else could… No, Gwen’s still in UCLA, finishing up her research.”

“ _She would’ve come and driven with you_ ,” Aunt May huffed down the phoneline.

“It’s kind of too late now, Aunt May,” Peter said, rolling his eyes. “Listen, I’m fine, I’ll get to California safe and sound, okay? I’m about to eat, can I call you back later?”

“ _You better. Stay safe, alright?”_

“I will.”

“ _And don’t pick up any strangers._ ”

“I _won’t_ , Aunt May.”

Peter shook his head with a fond smile as he slid his phone back into his pocket. He couldn’t stay mad at Aunt May for long; she was all he had left, and she just wanted what was best for him. This was the first time he’d been gone for a long period all by himself, it was understandable that she was concerned.

“Yo.”

The voice was way too close to his ear, and Peter startled, jerking around. The man in the booth behind him had turned around, giving him a friendly grin. The man was probably a couple of years older than Peter, and was wearing one of the most hideous shirts that he had ever had the misfortune of seeing. It was floral print, some horrible mockery of a Hawaiian shirt, with neon colors and dolphins printed on it. He was also wearing a cowboy hat, the brim lowered to cover the majority of his face.

Peter frowned. “Can I help you?” he asked slowly.

“Actually, I was hoping you could.”

Without waiting for an invitation, the stranger stood up from his table, picking up his plate of pancakes and orange juice and sliding them onto Peter’s table before plopping down onto the seat opposite.

“I’m Wade,” the man said, jutting his hand out. It was calloused and covered in dozens of scars. Peter shook it cautiously.

“Peter.”

“Well, Petey, I hate being one of those assholes who eavesdrop, but I really couldn’t help hearing that you’re heading to California, too.”

Wade grinned ruefully, and jerked a thumb out the window. Peter followed where he was pointing, and saw a man hooking a car to the back of a tow truck. It was dented and rusty, with little holes punched into the doors that Peter couldn’t identify but which likely came from the same accident that had crushed the side panels in.

“Some a-hole totaled my car, and now I’m kinda stuck in the middle of nowhere,” the man said ruefully, looking around the diner.

Peter quickly picked up on the unasked question, and he tensed in discomfort. “Oh,” he said awkwardly. “Uh, do you need to call someone? You can use my phone…”

“Nah, I already bothered the waitress until she let me use the phone in the back.” As if to prove his point, the nearby waitress sent an annoyed glare in Wade’s direction. “Look, I know this is sudden and seems really sketchy, but I was hoping I could hitch a ride with you to California.”

Peter’s chest clenched up.  Everything about this situation was uncomfortable: it was obvious he had to say no, even if Wade was staring at him with big eyes and seemed to have good intentions. (If they’d met in any other situation, Peter wouldn’t have minded even taking him out for a coffee). He opened his mouth to respond, but only managed to croak out a barely human noise.

“L-look, I’m sorry, man, but I don’t think I should,” Peter said awkwardly, tripping over the words. “I just--yeah.” His brain couldn’t move fast enough to think of a good excuse, and he felt the tips of his ears turn red.

“Ah, that’s a bummer,” Wade said with a deep sigh. “I mean, like, I could try to chat you up more and use my manly wiles, but that might get the cops called on me.”

Peter couldn’t help but chuckle, even though there was a surprising amount of guilt growing inside of him. “I-I can call you a taxi or something, though,” he offered. “Or help you find a bus?”

“Hey, it’s all good, don’t worry about it, dude,” Wade said, holding up his hands and giving Peter a charming grin. “It was a total shot in the dark, and I get why you wouldn’t want a total weirdo in your car. Thanks for listening to me, though.”

As Wade got up to go back to his table Peter was gripped with the sudden urge to do something really, really stupid.

“Hey,” he called after him. Wade turned around, a questioning look on his face.

Peter stared at him for a second, and swallowed heavily. “Is there a specific day that you need to get to California? Because I’m going a really long and roundabout way there.”

A slow grin spread over Wade’s features. Peter could see that he was practically vibrating with excitement. “Nope,” he said, popping his lips. “I have a completely open schedule.”

Peter nodded. “You’re welcome to come with me,” he said. “I mean, as long as you pay for gas money and chip in for the hotel rooms and stuff.”

“Done and done,” Wade exclaimed. Peter grunted as he was pulled into a tight hug, Wade bending down awkwardly so Peter didn’t have to stand up. “Don’t even worry about the money--I’ll pay for everything. It’s the least I can do. You’re the man, Petey-boy.”

Peter stared after Wade as he grabbed the duffel bag that was sitting in his abandoned booth, whistling as he went, and felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in the back of his throat. Well, this trip _was_ meant to be spontaneous and this definitely counted as spontaneous. He could already hear Gwen and Aunt May’s voices ringing in his ears, telling him how _stupid_ he was.

It might be good though, he thought, trying to persuade himself that he wasn’t an idiot. It’d be nice not having to pay for the gas and everything else by himself. And technically, it would keep him more alert, right? He’d be less likely to nod off and crash into a ditch after hours and hours of driving. (At least, that’s what he told himself).

Wade chatted and drank coffee while Peter continued eating. Within minutes Peter was in complete awe of the way the man seemed to be able to talk constantly yet not say anything _at all_. He silently hoped that Wade wouldn’t be able to keep this up for the hours of driving they had ahead of them.

***

Back outside of the diner, Peter opened the car doors and popped the trunk. Wade dropped his heavy bag in before jumping into the passenger seat. Peter shook his head in bewilderment as he climbed in on the other side, fumbling for the keys in his pocket.

“If you’re planning on robbing me, I should probably tell you I’m actually really good at fighting,” Peter blurted out.

Wade heaved a heavy sigh, and went to unbuckle his seatbelt. “Guess I might as well leave, then,” he said casually. “You’ve figured out my plan. The cat’s out of the bag.”

Peter froze, the key poised over the ignition. He stared with wide eyes at Wade.

“Kidding, I’m kidding.”

Peter made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat, but couldn’t stop the grin that was spreading over his face. “I try to be a good samaritan, and this is where it gets me,” he complained. “Stuck in the car with a weirdo.”

“See? Be heartless. It’ll stop situations like this from happening.”

“Are you telling me to kick you out?”

“Nah, it’s too late now.”

Peter snorted, shaking his head fondly. He reversed the car smoothly out of the parking spot and was soon back onto the open road.

“So, where ya from?” Wade asked casually, watching the scenery zip by.

“Queens.”

“Ooo, you’re far from home!” Wade chirped. “What’s got you heading all the way to Cali?”

Peter hesitated, his gaze darting from the road to the rearview mirror, where he could see the box of ashes sitting on the backseat. He thought about just giving a vague answer, but he figured it’d be better to answer honestly before his passenger caught sight of the box and got freaked out.

“To spread my uncle’s ashes,” he said.

“Oh. Shit.” Wade was startled, looking like a deer in the headlights. “Fuck, I’m sorry. Were you close? Uh, don’t answer that. Obviously you were, or else you wouldn’t be driving out here. What happened?”

Peter’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, remaining silent.

Wade also didn’t speak for awhile, but he seemed completely unable to be quiet. “...Alright, uh, I see that was a bit of a shitty question, so don’t answer that either.”

Peter huffed angrily, and reached down for his phone, unlocking it. “Here, play some music,” he said tersely, tossing it into Wade’s lap. “Make a playlist or something.”

Wade hummed thoughtfully, and quickly started tapping away. Peter occasionally glanced over, making sure that he hadn’t opened a different app or something, but the man stuck resolutely to Spotify. After what felt like an eternity, music suddenly blared through the speakers, and Peter burst out laughing.

“Did you just un-ironically put on _Steely Dan_?”

“You bet your butt I did.”

“Oh my god, what is your problem? I’m leaving you at the next gas station if you don’t change it right now.”

***

“So when you say roundabout way, how roundabout are we talking?” Wade said as he put the finishing touches to the playlist.

Peter grimaced. “I was gonna swing by New Orleans to see a friend and then just straight shoot it from there,” he said. “Probably stop by a couple of other places that sound cool, too. And then I’m gonna spread the ashes at Zion National Park in Utah. After that, it’s off to LA.”

Wade gasped excited. “ _N’awlins_ ?! I haven’t been there in _so_ long. And lemme tell you, the last time I went there, it was _wild_.”

“Really? You don’t strike me as the partying type.”

Wade laughed. “Well, I mean, there _was_ a party, but I didn’t have time to join in on the fun, since it ended really quick.”

Peter hummed, sitting up a little straighter when he felt a twinge of pain in his back. “What happened?”

“I was workin’ a job there,” Wade said flippantly. “The mood gets kinda soured when you’ve been paid to kill the dude hosting the party.”

Peter blinked a couple of times. “Can you repeat that last bit?” he asked, his attention completely focused on the man in his passenger’s seat.

“Yeah, it was meant to be just a clean one and done kinda thing, but it seems like Lady Luck stepped out on me. _So_ rude. So the person who hired me apparently wanted to catch me as soon as the job was done and off me too so he’d look like the hero for taking me out. I had to go running around New Orleans like a nutso--okay, like _more_ of a nutso than usual--before I managed to shake ‘em and head back up north.”

Peter didn’t respond for a second. “Oh my god, there’s a crazy person in my car,” he announced calmly. He could already sense a stern talk between him and Wade regarding cracking jokes about murder to people Wade barely knew. “You sound like the script of a bad action movie.”

“Now that you mention it, I _did_ actually try to write a movie once.”

***

They fell into a rhythm with shocking ease. It didn’t take long before Peter was comfortable enough that he was actively engaged in the conversations, not just giving a few sarcastic words at what Wade was saying.

When they settled in for the first night, Wade’s snoring definitely kept him up for a while, but in the end Peter was able to drown it out. And when Peter woke up in the morning, it was to Wade reentering the room with two coffees and a bag full of donuts hanging out of his mouth.

(And on the one time that Wade got blueberry muffins and found out Peter was allergic, he was almost inconsolable. He interrogated Peter and wrote down a list of all of his allergies and then his favorite foods and made sure to only get things Peter actually liked).

“Listen, I don’t care what your taste in music is, you have to admit that Cascada created a _legendary_ banger with Everytime We Touch.”

“That doesn’t mean we have to listen to it on repeat, _Wade_.”

Wade had taken the time to make a ridiculously long playlist that had music to suit everything from seventies disco to early-2000s teenage girl’s room. He would belt out the lyrics, and more often than not Peter found himself singing along.

The best part, though, was that Wade didn’t seem to mind the dozens of times Peter suddenly stopped the car or did a U-turn to get out and take pictures. It always happened without any warning, just a sudden exclamation from Peter followed by a quick swerve and a stop. Peter would hop out of the car with his camera and photograph whatever had caught his attention at that moment. Wade would leave the car as well, stretching and admiring the view.

“So you’re a photographer?” Wade asked, toying with a dried branch he’d picked up on their last stop.

“Yeah, kind of,” Peter said. “I’ve done pictures for the newspaper before.”

“Damn, I’m in the presence of a celebrity,” Wade exclaimed. “Gimme your autograph at the next stop. Do I get to see the pictures, or are they top secret?”

Peter shook his head fondly. “I’m really not that special,” he chuckled. “It was just pictures of local events and other little things. But yeah, you can look through them. Just press that button.”

Wade started flipping through the pictures on the little screen on the camera, gasping and cooing at every picture.

“I want this one printed out and hung on my wall. Wait, wait, no, this one. No, actually these four. All of them. Just give me all of them.”

***

The sun was barely starting to set, and the car was in a comfortable silence. The music was playing lowly, barely audible over the engine, and Wade was staring out the window at the sunset.

“Okay, here’s a question,” Peter said after taking a drink from his water bottle. “What’s something you like that no one else likes?”

“Is this from one of those ‘ice-breakers for first dates’ books?” Wade said, scrunching his nose.

“I mean, it _is_ meant to be an ice-breaker. Just answer the question.”

Wade hummed thoughtfully, tapping his chin. “Well, you made it clear that liking Steely Dan is unpopular in this car.”

“You’re definitely right with that one.”

“ _Heathen_ . Alright, what about you? What do _you_ like that society deems unacceptable?”

Peter thought for a few moments, biting his lip. “I really like that show Rock of Love,” he said with a barely suppressed laugh. “It’s stupid, I know. My Aunt May _hates_ those kind of shows so much. If I told her that, I’d be shot.”

“What? That’s so poopy of her! I would take a _bullet_ for your right to like Rock of Love, baby boy,” Wade said dramatically, throwing his head back and holding his arms out.

A bitter laugh bubbled out of Peter, his good mood abruptly vanishing. “Then you’ll end up in a little black box being driven to Arizona, too,” he said, more forcefully than he intended. But the floodgates had already opened, and Peter couldn’t stop himself. “That’s how my uncle died. We got into a fight over...something stupid. I don’t even remember it now. It wasn’t a big deal. _Me_ , being the dumb teenager that I was, ran off, even though it was the middle of the night, and _him_ , being the goddamn _responsible adult_ , went after me.”

Wade stared at him with wide eyes, but didn’t make a move to interrupt as Peter charged forward.

“And _because_ of that, he found me about to get mugged, and he got in the way and ended up _shot_ . I had to sit there with him until the ambulance came, but it was already too late, and it was _all my fault_.”

Peter’s voice cracked, his throat too tight with emotion to continue. He gripped the steering wheel with white knuckles, taking deep breaths, willing himself to calm down.

“Uh, wow, dude,” Wade said, clearing his throat. “That’s some deep shit.”

Peter deflated, flopping back in his seat. “I’m sorry, that was...inappropriate,” he said haltingly. “I shouldn’t have gone off like that.”

“Nah, dude, it’s chill,” Wade said, reaching over and patting him on the shoulder. “It sounded like something ya needed to get off your chest.”

Peter didn’t comment, staring ahead at the road. “I don’t...really talk about it,” he confessed. “I feel like everyone around me wants to forget about how it happened. Aunt May always look sad, and none of my friends are helpful. I don’t have the _time_ to see a therapist regularly.”

“So you decided to go on a getaway road trip,” Wade surmised. “Trying to find yourself? Or some clarity or acceptance in the great outdoors and the wide, open road?”

“I--yeah, I guess.” Peter gave him a strange look. “That was deep, dude.”

Wade snorted, leaning over and tapping his forehead. “I’m smarter than I look, baby boy,” he stage-whispered. “But don’t tell anyone, ‘kay? I like it being a secret.”

Peter nodded. “Only if you don’t bring up, uh, anything I just said.”

“My lips are sealed.” Wade made a great show of pretending to lock his lips and throwing away the key. “But, if you ever need someone to hunt down the dude who did the thing-that-shall-not-be-named, just drop me a note. No one will even know it was you.”

“You just had to make it creepy, didn’t you?”

***

“Want some cashews?”

“Sure.”

“So, uh...you enjoying my _nuts_?”

“Don't talk to me.”

***

“You never told me why you’re going out to Cali,” Peter said absently as he fussed with the exposure on his camera.

Wade hummed, not moving from where he was sprawled out on top of the car. He had on a pair of heart-shaped sunglasses and a baseball cap with a cartoon bear on the front of it. “I quit my job,” he said.

Peter turned around to try and say something witty, but the words died in his throat. He swallowed reflexively at the sight of Wade lounging on the car, looking so relaxed and perfectly poised. He brought his camera up and snapped a picture, but whipped around when Wade turned to face him.

“Ah, so you’re tryin’ to make it in the City of Angels?” Peter joked loudly, aiming his camera and taking a picture in an attempt to hide his flustered . “That’s a dangerous move.”

“Eh, I’m more retiring than looking for something new,” Wade said, sliding off of the car and landing silently on his feet. “The business of killing people and destroying lives gets to be not fun after a certain point. Surprisingly, no one wants to be friends with someone like that.”

“I don’t know. I mean, even lawyers have friends, so there’s gotta be some niche of people who’d be into it,” Peter said. Satisfied with the pictures he’d taken, he went back to the car.

“Yeah, like you,” Wade laughed, and got comfortable in the passenger’s seat again. Peter glanced over at him and gave him a small smile, a flush dusting his cheeks.

***

As they entered New Orleans, Wade seemed to get...antsy.

He was fiddling with the dog-tags that hung around his neck, and seemed uncharacteristically pensive, staring out the window. He’d adamantly refused to take off his hat and sunglasses, even though the light was fast fading.

“Okay, Wade, you’re starting to freak me out,” Peter finally burst out. “Are you feeling sick? What is it? I never thought I’d actually be wanting you to talk, but here we are.”

“I’m trying to make sure those people I told you about earlier don’t find out I’m here,” Wade said, not looking at Peter. “ _That_ clusterfuck should be avoided at all cost.”

“So is that, like, code for an ex or something?” Peter asked. “I know you like to talk in riddles and stuff, but I need a clue here.”

Wade was about to respond, but Peter interrupted him by quickly swerving into the exit they needed, followed by a cacophony of honks from the other cars and a stream of curses from Peter. He quickly lost track of their conversation as he focused on trying not to crash.

It was dark by the time that they finally pulled up to the apartment building.

“Uh, yeah, this is the place,” Peter said, hunching over the steering wheel and squinting up at the building. “I can see MJ’s stuff in the window.”

He parked the car out in front of the apartment building. The two of them moved slowly as they grabbed their things--Peter only grabbing a change of clothes, while Wade took his entire duffel bag--and blearily made their way into the building and up to MJ’s apartment, using the code and key she had given Peter.

MJ’s apartment was small but cozy, with a nice view of the city and tasteful decorations. Both she and her roommate were off visiting friends in another state. MJ had felt terrible about missing the one time Peter was in New Orleans, but he promised that he would come back through on his way back to New York.

“Oh thank god, _cleanliness_ ,” Peter moaned, pressing his forehead against the back of the couch. “I don’t feel like I need to keep my shoes on the entire time we’re here. This is luxury.”

Wade snorted with agreement, dropping his bag onto the island in the kitchen.

After taking a few minutes to familiarize themselves with the apartment, Wade’s hunger let itself be known, his stomach growling loudly, and Peter’s quickly followed. They snooped around the kitchen but it was relatively barren, since MJ and her roommate hadn’t been there for the past couple of days.

“We could go out for some burgers?” Wade offered. “I know a place that’s a couple blocks away from here. My treat. We’ll be like father and son.”

Peter glared at him. “I don’t even want to know why those words left your mouth, or how your thoughts got there.”

“Well, that’s no fun, baby boy.”

“Stop calling me that!”

***

Dinner was the most fun Peter had had in awhile. It was nice that they had time to actually sit down and relax; all of the places they had eaten for the past few days were generally just greasy fast food. They might still be eating burgers, but at least these didn’t make Peter feel like his heart was going to kill him.

It also helped that Wade had been laying on the flirting much heavier than usual. He was all goofy jokes and fumbling pick-up lines that had Peter almost snorting his drink out of his nose. Halfway through his burger, Peter had plucked up the confidence to flirt back, his heart hammering in his chest when he successfully got Wade to let out his raucous laughter.

It was late by the time they left the restaurant. They chatted as they walked, their hands occasionally brushing, but both refusing to acknowledge it or actually hold hands. It was shockingly peaceful, the same contentment washing over Peter that he felt during their drives. The streets were relatively quiet as they strolled down the sidewalk, getting closer to MJ’s apartment.

Wade whirled around abruptly, eyes shining in the streetlights.

“Let’s go dancing,” he said excitedly.

“What? How are you not exhausted?” Peter said, but his words lacked any real conviction. Excitement was already fluttering in his stomach at the idea of staying out with Wade and spending more time with him. “We’ve been driving for two straight days.”

“Exactly!” Wade stressed. “We’ve been cooped up in a tiny, crappy car.”

“Hey!”

“So we should go and stretch our legs, do something fun!” Wade continued, ignoring Peter’s interjection. “C’mon, just for a bit. Pleaaaase? Wait, are you even legal? Is that why you don’t wanna go, because you’ll get kicked out?”

“I’m twenty-one!” Peter said defensively, crossing his arms.

“Um, alright, Mr. Babyface. I’m sure that fake ID in your pocket says so too, right?”

Peter knew that Wade was trying to rib him into going, and damn him, if it wasn’t working. He hated that he was a sucker for Wade’s puppy eyes. He grumbled angrily as he started marching back the way they’d came, Wade cheering next to him.

***

Okay, dancing was more fun than Peter had been expecting. He’d been ready to stand in the corner, holding a beer while Wade danced like a maniac. He was right about the second part, but Wade was able to coax him into the floor after a few songs.

If Wade wasn’t such a horrible dancer, Peter would have felt even more self-conscious. But when the man was literally doing _the sprinkler_ on dance floor, Peter didn’t feel as bad about his subpar moves. If it were any other person, Peter would’ve thought that he was playing it up, but Wade seemed so genuine in his flailing arms and legs.

And then Wade was twirling Peter closer, making him let out a startled yelp, but he was quick to catch himself. Wade was grinning widely, panting slightly from exertion and eyes alight with excitement.  Peter’s heart fluttered, and he smiled back at him as they started dancing together, Wade’s goofy faces making it impossible for them to do any moves smoothly. It ended with them being pressed against each other, giggling like mad as they swayed from side to side, not particularly caring about the tempo of the song or the other people around them.

It ended when a drunk person ran into Wade, effectively ruining the mood. The two blushed, but neither made a move to reinitiate the intimacy they had shared.

“I think we should head back,” Peter said, clearing his throat.

They walked back together in relative silence, shoulders brushing against each other. Peter berated himself for not making a move like he wanted to, not reaching out and grabbing Wade’s hand or stealing a kiss like he so desperately wanted to do. And he couldn’t get a reading from Wade; his cheeks were flushed, but he wasn’t making any kind of move, either, so maybe it was some kind of fluke.

All of a sudden, Peter felt Wade’s arm wrap around his waist. His eyes widened and his cheeks reddened, but before he could process anything, Wade spoke.

“Don’t look behind you,” Wade said, his lips barely moving as he urged Peter to keep walking. “We’re being followed.”

“Wait, what?”

Peter immediately tried to turn around, but Wade gripped his hip warningly.

“We’ll lose ‘em down that alley,” Wade said, glancing ahead at the space between two buildings.

“Are you kidding me? That’s the _dumbest_ idea--”

There were suddenly strong hands around Peter’s arm that yanked him into the alley. The air was forced out of him as he was harshly shoved into a wall. He stood dazed, his head spinning as he fought to catch his breath. He could hear the sounds of a scuffle, and when he looked up, Wade was surrounded, fighting off three men.

Watching Wade move would have been awe inspiring, if it wasn’t also so terrifying. Everything seemed perfectly calculated--every punch, every kick, every snapped bone. The three men didn’t stand a _chance_ against him, especially not after he pulled out a knife from his pocket and threw that into the mix.

Within a span of barely a minute, all three of the men were down. Only one was alive, and he was gasping for breath and holding the bleeding knife wound in his side. Wade casually strolled to the survivor, glancing over to where Peter was standing, frozen to the spot.

“You good, honey?” Wade asked, looking him up and down.

Peter managed to croak out a yes, still staring wide eyed at the man cursing on the ground.

Wade nodded in satisfaction before crouching down next to the man. “Didja guys really have to come and interrupt my date?” he whined, poking the man in the shoulder.

“F-fuck off, Wilson,” the man spat, any venom in his voice drowned out by fear.

Wade hummed, leaning closer and peering at the man’s terrified face. “Hey, your face looks familiar,” Wade said. “How do I know you?”

“I-I--”

“Wait, wait! Don't tell me. I _love_ this game. Hmm.” He scratched his chin with the barrel of the gun thoughtfully. “Oh, right! Montreal. Coupla years back. You begged me to let you live because you had kids. How’re they doing? Are they in school yet?”

“Y-yeah, one’s in high school,” the man gritted out, holding his side and glaring up at Wade.

“Aw, congrats, dude. Those are some shitty years, but hopefully it’ll be smooth sailing for them. Do they have any college--”

“ _Jesus_ , just get it over with!” the man shouted. “If you’re gonna kill me, just kill me!”

Wade heaved himself into a standing position, wiping his bloodied knuckles off on his T-shirt.

“No, I’m trying to turn over a new leaf here, ok?” he said, holding his hands out for emphasis. “And it _seems_ like you airheads haven’t gotten that yet, so I’m gonna leave you to tell everyone, while we continue on our glorious roadtrip to LA. I’m excited to go stop in Vegas, too. That Beatles show is still going, right? I’ll drop you a postcard and tell you how it was.”

Wade strolled over to where Peter was still pressed against the brick wall, eyes wide and jaw slack. He gently took Peter’s hand and the man was too shocked to even think about fighting or asking _what the hell had just happened_.

“Listen,” Wade sighed as they reached the apartment building. “I know it’s kind of sudden, but I don’t think he’s gonna be nice enough to let us finish up our stop in N’awlins, baby boy. Let’s get our things and skedaddle. We’ll find a nice hotel outside of the city.”

***

Peter wasn’t able to break out of his daze until they had repacked the car and were driving again.

“You killed them,” he finally said.

Wade looked at him with a frown. “Well, yeah,” he said, as if he were stating the obvious. “Didn’t you see they attacked first? Oh wait.” He turned a bit more and gave Peter a sympathetic look. “That was your first dead body, wasn’t it? I’m sorry, I thought you were hardcore, since you lived in Queens and stuff. If I knew I’d taken your dead body virginity I would’ve...actually probably nothing would’ve changed.”

Peter didn’t say anything. His heart was pounding in his ears, and his knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard. Wade didn’t seem to notice, too busy putting on music and observing his bruising knuckles. Peter tried to make sense of what he’d just seen, but his thoughts were sluggish.

Okay. He had to think facts. Wade had apparently been telling the _truth_ when he’d been spouting all that stuff about being a killer, and not speaking in crazy metaphors or just using his overactive imagination.

He saw Wade move out of the corner of his eye, and bit back a high-pitched shriek when he saw Wade had unzipped his bag and was pulling out a knife and two handguns. Inside, he could see glimpses of other weapons of all types.

“I was hoping not to bring out these babies out this trip,” Wade grumbled, putting the knife in his pocket before struggling to put on the gun harness he had also pulled from the bag.  “I was really hoping it was gonna be all nice and peaceful, but, well…”

That was when Peter finally snapped.

Without any warning, he swerved onto the exit ramp, ignoring Wade’s questions. His tires screeched as he turned into an abandoned lot and slammed on the brakes.

“Peter, what the hell?” Wade shouted as Peter got out and slammed the car door behind him.

“You’re asking _me_ what the hell?” Peter yelled, whipping around. “You just killed a man-- _multiple_ men! And you didn’t even bat an eyelash! You’ve--you’ve had _guns_ and a goddamn _machete_ with you this entire time and you didn’t tell me!”

“What? C’mon, baby boy, you saw that they started it,” Wade said, sounding confused. He climbed out of the car too, stuffing one of the guns in his waistband. He moved toward Peter who dodged to the other side of the car, putting the vehicle between them.

“If I hadn’t killed them, they would’ve killed us!” Wade insisted, throwing his hands up in frustration.

“But--they _knew_ you! The weren’t random thugs!”

“Because he part of a gang I was hired to kill. I told you this before.” Wade said slowly, as if explaining it to a toddler.

Peter screamed in frustration, clenching his hands in his hair. “I can’t take this right now, Wade, I really _cannot_ . I thought you were _joking_ when you were talking about all of that stuff! Oh my god, I’ve been driving around a goddamn _murderer_ next to me.”

Wade pouted. “Petey, baby, I’ve been telling you the truth the entire time,” he whined. “You can’t be mad at me because of that.”

“Yeah, okay, I think it’s time for you to leave,” Peter said, attempting to make his voice hard but failing spectacularly. “I’m--no, I am _not_ getting into this with you. Find another ride.”

He faltered slightly, but kept his head high as he turned away from Wade.

Wade heaved a sigh behind him, but Peter refused to turn around. He pulled out his car keys and opened the car door.

“I really hoped I wouldn’t have to do this, but…”

Suddenly there was a strong hand holding his upper arm in a vice-like grip, yanking him harshly backwards. He could feel the point of a knife digging dangerously into his side. Peter squawked in shock and flailed his arms. By pure luck, the back of his hand smacked Wade straight in the face. It wasn’t a particularly hard blow, but it was enough to make the man grunt in shock and loosen his grip.

Seeing his opportunity, Peter shoved Wade away and made a sprint for the road. If he could just get to the road, then he could flag someone down, and get away—

He let out a startled yell when Wade was suddenly behind him again. He wrapped an arm around Peter’s waist and lifted him bodily out of the car. Peter kicked at him in a futile attempt to dislodge the man, but Wade’s muscles were clearly not just for show.

“Jesus H tap-dancing Christ, _would you calm down?_ ” Wade hissed, dragging Peter away from his potential salvation. “I’m not trying to kill you, I’m just trying to get you to listen—“

“Oh, _really_ ? Are you _seriously_ trying to tell me to shut up when you just had a goddamn knife against my back?” Peter shrieked, fighting against him.

“Okay, listen, I know that probably gave you some mixed signals, but—“

“Shut _up!_ Let _go of me_ , you _asshole_!”

Wade let out a frustrated grunt as Peter landed another hit with his wild flailing, and stopped trying to grab at his arms in order to pull out the handgun from his waistband.

“Alright, see now I’m holding a gun to your head,” he snapped as Peter immediately froze. “Is that better than the knife in the back?”

Peter didn’t move, eyes wide as he stared straight ahead. He held his hands up in surrender as Wade set him down on his feet, and released the grip he had on his waist. Peter slowly turned around, dropping his gaze to the gun nervously.

“Are we done fighting now?” Wade panted, lowering the gun.

“I mean, I can’t exactly tell you no, can I?” Peter said slowly, brow furrowed and heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears.

“Aw man, can we not—gah, can you stop making me feel like such an asshole?” Wade whined, face scrunching.

Peter made a disbelieving sound. “No, I won’t, because you _are_ an asshole. Asshole.”

Wade let out an angry sigh, and when Peter glanced at him apprehensively, he saw that he looked genuinely upset. “I really didn’t want for this to happen,” Wade said earnestly. “I was just--I really was just looking for a ride to Cali. I wasn’t trying to get you involved in any of this.”

Peter gave him a look, responding only with a grunt. It didn’t matter how genuinely upset Wade seemed by this situation--he was _keeping Peter prisoner_. He refused to feel any sort of sympathy for the man.

“Just—get in,” Wade muttered, pushing Peter back towards the car, still with a steel grip on his arm.

Wade shoved Peter into the driver’s seat from the passenger side and got in after him. “Get back on the road, pretty please,” he instructed. “We’re gonna keep going on to LA.”

“I should’ve known not to give you a ride,” Peter seethed from behind gritted teeth. “My aunt had _just_ told me not to trust people like you, and what do I do? Ignore her.”

“Yeah, you should really be careful about who you let into your car,” Wade nodded. “You’re lucky that, like, I don’t want to hurt you. I could actually be a jackass, y’know?”

“Yeah, wouldn’t want you looking like a _jackass_ in this situation.”

Wade made an affronted noise, but didn’t say anything, and that just added to Peter’s frustration. He slammed his palm on the steering wheel, startling both of them, but didn’t say anything. He was afraid his voice would break if he spoke, and that would just be the icing on the cake.

And then another horrible realization struck him: was Peter even going to get the chance to spread Uncle Ben’s ashes? Was this entire trip going to end in him having to go home--that is, if Wade even _let_ him go home--with his tail between his legs, a bruised ego, and a depressingly full box of ashes? For some reason, that thought was the one that hurt the most, not his possible execution at the hands of a hitchhiker. He’d be doing Uncle Ben yet _another_ disservice, letting him down even when he was dead.

He couldn’t be quiet about it. Even if it annoyed Wade and put Peter’s personal safety in danger, he _was_ going to fight so he could spread the ashes. He had to.

“Do I at least get to stop at Zion and spread Uncle Ben’s ashes?” he managed to grind out, biting back tears of anger.

“Of freaking _course_ !” Wade exclaimed. “I’m not gonna stop a grieving man from spreading his uncle’s ashes over a glorious national park. That’s too much, even for me. _Especially_ for me. I am actually trying to get better at this ‘not being a criminal’ thing, y’know.”

Peter’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. That...that was it? He’d been prepared to fight tooth and nail with Wade, but apparently he didn’t need to.

“A-alright.”

***

“Are you gonna keep pouting all night?” he asked.

Peter gave him a scathing glare that made Wade whine in protest.

“Look, can I at least explain my side?” Wade pressed. “I just...You can keep hating me, I just want you to know everything, okay?”

“Explain all you want, but you still kidnapped me. At fucking _gunpoint_.”

“Fair enough.”

Wade twisted his body so he was facing Peter, his head resting on the door, and started . He explained his service in the military, his honorable discharge due to the injury that had lead to the scars that crisscrossed his entire body, and the chronic pain that came with them.

He explained how, after sitting around for less than a month, he had been bored to death, and a friend had gotten him into the mercenary business. It had been easy for him, and it brought in good money. It had helped that he was his own boss, able to work when he wanted and only kill people he felt were deserving. Of course it also got him into a lot of trouble, but he finally had something to _do_ , a purpose, an outlet.

But then someone--one of his clients--had attempted to stab him in the back. He had wanted Wade to kill his business partner but, unbeknownst to Wade, had also planned to immediately capture him and turn him over to the cops, making himself the hero. Wade had caught wind of it, and skipped town off before they could get him and promptly execute him.

“So that’s why I’m here,” Wade said, gesturing around the car. “Trying to get the hell away from everything, and hopefully disappear, get a new life on some tropical island.”

Peter hummed sympathetically. “Sad story, but you can’t Stockholm Syndrome me that easily.”

Wade groaned loudly, head banging against the window. “I wasn’t trying to make you fall for me!” he whined.

“Of course not.”

“Look, when we spread Uncle B’s ashes and I get everything cleared up, I swear you’ll never see me again,” Wade said earnestly. “But for now, since you’ve been seen with me, you’re in trouble, too. Seriously, you’re safer with me right now than on your own.”

“I’d be safer in a pool full of sharks,” Peter growled, hunching down in his seat.

“Hey, sharks are sort of friendly!”

***

“Wade, I have to take a break,” Peter said weakly, rubbing his hand over his eyes. His eyelids valiantly fought to stay closed, but he didn’t let them. “We’re gonna crash if I don’t get _some_ sleep.”

Wade didn’t respond, and for a second, Peter thought he wasn’t going to answer at all.

“Yeah, we can take a break,” Wade finally agreed. “Stop at the next rest stop.”

By this point, the next rest area they came across was almost completely empty, save for a lone parked car that had been more than likely left by hikers. Peter immediately stepped out of the car, stretching his arms above his head.

“What’s the likelihood of me being able to run away?”

“Not great. Sorry, baby boy.”

Peter sighed and wandered over to a bench, the farthest that he dared to go without Wade getting on his case. He just needed _some_ distance, even if he knew that the man was still watching over him like a hawk. He flopped down heavily on the bench, stretching his legs out in front of him.

God, this _sucked_.

He knew he had been stupid. He put himself in this entire situation, something that could have been very easily avoided. He was such an idiot. It was this kind of dumbness that had ended up with Uncle Ben getting shot. Peter knew that it was just his brain piling all of his mistakes on him at once, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t see the glimmers of truth in the insults.

Peter sat hunched over on the bench, his head in his hands. After a second, Wade came and sat next to him, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Peter recoiled, his heart pounding as he tried not to look too scared. Wade quickly held up his hands in a gesture of peace, and moved so there was a bit more space between them.

“It’s gonna be alright, baby boy,” Wade told him, his voice soothing. “Just take some deep breaths.”

Peter grumbled angrily, but lapsed back into silence. He tried his best to ignore Wade, which was made easier when the man didn’t bother him again.

When he had finally pulled himself together, he looked up at Wade. The man was staring at the sunset, sad lines etched into his forehead, mouth drooping in a frown that was completely out of place on his normally goofy face.

“Do...do you wanna take some pictures?” Wade asked sheepishly, holding Peter’s camera out to him. Peter hadn’t even been aware that Wade had unpacked anything. “There are some of those weird prickly things you love over there…”

Peter stood up to tell him a curt ‘no’, but then he saw the plants growing in on the other side of the road.

Goddammit.

He grabbed the camera from Wade and stomped across the road to take some pictures.

After he was done, Wade motioned for him to get in the backseat.

“We’ll stay here for a bit longer,” he explained. “You look like you’re about to keel over at any second.”

Peter obligingly climbed into the backseat, lying down with a sweatshirt as a pillow. Wade climbed into the driver’s seat, pointedly putting the keys in his pocket and turning on the child lock. _Fucker_.

Peter fought valiantly to stay awake, glancing out the window for any signs of people, especially the drivers of the only other car at the rest stop. But the only other living thing he saw was a raccoon scurrying into the bushes, and the crooning oldies that Wade had put on was dragging him closer and closer to sleep.

Sighing heavily, he finally gave up and fell asleep.

***

It was inevitable that they had to stop again. The gas tank was dangerously close to empty, so they pulled into a gas station. It was late at night and the place was deserted, save for a bored looking cashier inside who didn’t spare either of them a second glance.

Wade paid for the gas while Peter stood on the other side of the car, eyes darting around, desperate for somewhere to go or someone to flag down. He knew there was no point in just blindly running. They were in the middle of nowhere, the cashier clearly didn’t care and even if he did Wade could take him out before he could do anything.

Just as he was trying to decide what to do, another car turned into the station and pulled up to the pumps. Peter’s heart pounded, and he tried to gesture at them subtly while Wade continued whistling through his teeth and looking at the pump.

Moments later, Peter nearly screamed with relief when a cop car slowly pulled in as well, rolling to a stop only a few yards away. Wade abruptly stopped whistling and turned to stare intently at the car, but Peter didn’t care. This was it. This was his chance!

“Petey, baby you need to get back in the car,” Wade said, voice calm but eyes hard.

Peter scoffed and gave him a disbelieving look. The cop was getting out of his car, a few more people were getting out of the car that had parked earlier. Some part of Peter was waving a red flag, but he ignored it.

Taking a deep breath, Peter shouted as loudly as he could. “Hey! Help me, this dude’s kidnapped me! Plea--”

He didn’t get his last word out before Wade grabbed his arm and yanked him behind the car as bullets started flying.

“Stay down!” Wade barked, pulling out his gun and firing off a few shots back. He was rewarded with a shout of pain and more bullets raining down on them.

While Wade was distracted, Peter looked wildly around and spotted his escape route: an alley next to the gas station that disappeared into darkness. With his arms thrown over his head, Peter awkwardly tried to scuttle away from the firefight on his knees from the firefight. Wade was a freaking _magnet_ when it came to psychos who wanted to shoot them--

He almost couldn't believe it when he rounded the corner of the alley, away from Wade and the other guys. Suddenly all the fear caught up with him and his muscles locked before he was able to shake off his shock and bolt down the alley, away from fight.

He heard footsteps behind him and his blood ran cold for a moment, Seconds later relief washed over him as a figure emerged from the gloom of the alley. Another cop. Peter took a deep breath and forced himself to his feet. He raised his hands and stepped forward. “Officer! Please, you gotta help me--”

The words stuck in his throat when he saw the hard look on the officer’s face. Peter’s eyes widened as the officer drew his gun and aimed at him. He opened his mouth to shout, to point in the direction of Wade, but the man didn’t seem to care, eyes hard and locked on him. If it wasn’t for Wade literally jumping on top of the man with a knife, Peter knew he’d be already full of bullets.

It felt like a repeat of the last time as he watched Wade wrestle the gun away from the man before using it to shoot at the other men as they ran into the alley. Peter finally shook off his shock and managed to dive behind a trashcan, hiding from any errant bullets.

Or apparently _not_ errant, because that cop had definitely looked Peter right in the face and _definitely_ been ready to kill him. Apparently, Peter was now guilty by association.. The police saw him as enough of a threat that they wanted to shoot him on sight. Or were they even the police? Were they just more mobsters? His head was spinning.

Wade was still struggling against the cop, spitting out curses even as his face was turning purple. He scrabbled against the man’s hands around his throat, but the bloody

Peter glanced around desperately, searching for some sort of weapon in the trash around him. He grabbed a plank of splintered wood that had fallen out of one of the trash bags, and brandished it in front of him like a club. Peter hesitated for only a split second, before he gripped the piece of wood tight and whacked the cop on the side of the head.

The man let out a startled grunt before going limp and dropping to his knees, pulling Wade down with him. He was groaning and moving slightly, but was incapacitated for the moment.

Peter and Wade didn’t move for a bit, both of them panting and staring at the man. Finally, Wade wiped the blood off of his chin, and looked up at Peter with wonder in his eyes.

“You really _can_ fight,” Wade huffed, giving him a half-smirk.

*******

Once they’d gotten their breath back, Wade suggested they find somewhere to sleep and hope that things looked better in the morning. As freaked-out as he was, Peter was also seriously exhausted and Wade’s plan sounded suddenly appealing.

Fortunately for both of them, the room was cleaner than the outside. The carpet was slightly sticky and the thin walls offered only a modicum of privacy from their neighbors, but the sheets seemed clean and the bathroom lacked any obvious mold (even if there was a weird, stale smell that hung over the room).

“Alright, you take that bed,” Wade said, dropping his bag onto the bed that was nearest to the door and pointing to its twin at the back of the room. “You wanna shower first?”

Peter shrugged, sitting down on his designated bed and hearing the springs squeal in protest. “You’re, uh, bloodier than me. You go ahead.”

Wade didn’t fight him, instead going straight into the bathroom, leaving the door partially cracked. Peter could hear him humming and the sound of his clothes dropping onto to the tiled floor. The shower curtain slid open and shut and, as if a switch had been flipped, Wade started to sing, nonsensical and offkey lyrics that sounded vaguely like one of the songs that he had played in the car, but it was so distorted that Peter couldn’t quite tell.

He came back out with a towel wrapped around his waist and another one around his bald head. He whistled cheerfully between his teeth and pulled on his pajamas--for such a small bag, the man did seem to have quite a lot of pajamas. Wade had worn a different pair every single night they’d been together. These ones had cartoon monkeys and bananas on.

“You go on and sleep, Petey,” Wade said, settling down at the small table by the window and opening his bag.

“Do we need to, like, be on watch?” Peter asked. What was the protocol for these situations? Should one of them always be awake? Were they gonna switch off sometime in the middle of the night?

“I’ll take care of it,” Wade said, interrupting Peter’s thoughts. He didn’t look up as he started going through the bag and pulling out weapons. “I can sleep in the car, you can’t. Unless you want me to drive?”

“I think that’s a hard no,” Peter said immediately. He hesitated. “Why did the police shoot at us?”

Wade finished laying the guns out on the table, a sight that unnerved Peter. “They were either fake cops or were workin’ for someone,” he said casually, as if he was discussing the weather.

Peter nodded. “Huh. Okay.”

“Y’know, I gotta say you’re taking this all pretty well,” Wade commented as he started loading up magazines with bullets.

“Oh no. Inside, I’m screaming bloody murder and having a complete meltdown. I’m just good at hiding it at this point.”

“Well, that’s good to hear. I wouldn’t want to take you for some sort of emotionless psycho.”

Peter let out a laugh that was more than slightly hysterical. Wade stopped what he was doing and watched Peter warily, but didn’t move as Peter went and crawled under the covers, huddling into a tight ball.

“You wanna talk about it, baby boy?”

“No,” Peter’s voice filtered through the pillow. “I just wanna go to sleep and pretend it didn’t happen.”

“That’s not a healthy coping mechanism, Peter.”

“Good _night_.”

***

Peter woke up to the sounds of sirens with a start, jerking upwards and pushing the blankets off. He expected to see Wade asleep in the bed next to him, but the man was still sitting at the desk, the curtains pushed back a bit to let in a stream of neon light from the motel’s sign.

“What’s going on?” Peter said, urgency tinging his voice.

Wade turned to look at him, his face unnaturally solemn. He looked surreal and almost terrifying with the scars on his face and torso highlighted in fluorescent orange and green.

“It’s just passing by,” he rumbled, voice deep. “Go back to sleep.”

Peter swallowed and laid back down, but his eyes were still wide open. His heart was racing in his chest. He knew that the attackers hadn’t been _actual_ police officers, but that didn’t mean the law wasn’t still after Wade and, by extension, Peter. And that they wouldn’t shoot at Peter, too.

God, the stress of the what-ifs were going to kill him before any bullet did. How did people do it? A few days of being on the run and he’s practically a nervous wreck. Wade had done this for _years_.

“What’s goin’ on in that big head of yours, Petey?”

Wade came and sat down on the edge of the bed, leaving a respectable amount of space between the two of them.

“It’s just...a lot,” Peter finally muttered, rolling over onto his side so he could face Wade. “I don’t know how you do it. Did it. I haven’t had half of the experiences you had, and all I wanna do is hunker down in some cabin in the woods where no one’ll find me.”

Wade gave him a sad half-smile, but didn’t respond. He shifted so he was sitting with his back resting against the headboard. His hand came and rested on Peter’s head, soothingly running through his unruly hair.

“Go back to sleep,” Wade repeated. “I won’t doze off anytime soon, you’re safe.”

Peter didn’t pull away or comment on the fact that Wade had ignored what Peter said. He forced his eyes to stay shut, and the rhythmic motion of the petting finally had him falling into a deep sleep.

***

“So, I guess people _are_ actually after me now.”

“Yup.”

“And they want me dead.”

“They can't want you dead if they're already deader than dead.”

“You can't just kill all of your problems, Wade. Or mine.”

“Doesn't mean I'm not gonna try.”

***

“I’m gonna catch some z’s.”

Wade pushed the seat back after fiddling with it for a bit. He pulled his ballcap over his eyes to block out the desert sun and within seconds, he was snoring softly, barely audible over the music.

Peter sighed, leaning his arm against the open window and propping his head in his hand. The road was almost completely straight, and would be for a while yet, so he put on the cruise control and allowed himself to relax slightly. He tapped absently on the steering wheel along to the song, not paying too much attention to it.

His gaze drifted over to the passenger’s seat, and he felt his heart speed up. It was weird to see Wade without his wide, goofy grin, and his bright eyes. Peter would admit that Wade was cute--okay, _very_ cute--but with his muscles and sharp jawline highlighted by the bright Arizona sunlight, he was...handsome, despite the scars. More handsome than Peter had noticed before. If it weren’t for the gun Peter could see bulging at his waistband, it would feel like a proper road trip, one he might have with a friend or a boyfriend.

The car shook as it drifted over the rumble strips on the side of the road. Peter quickly righted the car, face flushed as he ignored Wade’s angry grumble and curious gaze peeking from under the hat.

No, no, he couldn’t think like that, not at _all._ He couldn’t even _think_ about daydreams involving Wade being his boyfriend, or about the way the light twinkled in his eyes, or of them spending lazy summer days together cuddled up--shit.

Peter made a pained noise, his grip tightening on the steering wheel. _God_ , he had to get ahold of himself!

“You, uh, doin’ okay, bud?”

He shook off his thoughts and glanced over at Wade. His cap was raised and the sleep was gone from his eyes.

“I can drive, if you need me to,” Wade offered, straightening his seat.

Peter let out a tight breath. “No, I’m fine. I just got distracted for a second.”

Wade grunted in acknowledgement, his gaze lingering on Peter’s flushed face. “You’re lookin’ a bit peeky,” he pressed. “Sure you don’t wanna stop somewhere air-conditioned that has food?”

“Jesus, I’m _fine_ ,” Peter hissed. He slapped at the A/C, turning the fan up to its highest setting. This man was like a dog with a bone.

“I mean, obviously you’re not. You’re red as hell, and I know it’s not a sunburn, because you were fine just a couple minutes ago, and you slather on the sunscreen like a soccer mom. Good for you for fighting off skin cancer, but _still_. Are you getting that road hypnosis thing? Look! You’re getting redder--oh. Ohhh.”

Peter gritted his teeth. Indeed, he could feel his face getting hotter, despite the cool air blasting him. He stared stubbornly at the road, but Wade leaned forward so Peter could see his shit-eating grin in the corner of his vision.

“What’s got you all flustered?” Wade drawled, elongating the last word.

“None of your business.”

“Aww, don’t be like that! Let’s gossip!”

“I said drop it.”

“Were you thinking of a cute boy? A cute girl? Me shirtless?”

Peter rolled down all of the windows, and the whipping wind effectively drowned out Wade’s babble. He couldn’t escape the sly looks Wade gave him, though.

***

At this point, the universe apparently decided that things had been going too smoothly for them.

They had stopped in a town for gas and a late lunch at an old-fashioned diner (“Look at it, Petey! It’s got neon signs! We _have_ to go!”) and were eating in relative silence when there was a sudden explosion outside.

They stared out of the window,  wide eyed as a plume of smoke and flames rose from Peter’s car. People in the diner were yelling in shock, and someone was frantically calling the police.

“And that’s why we bring our bags _with_ us wherever we go,” Wade said, taking a sip of his coffee. He threw down a fifty and started ushering Peter out of the diner, giving the car a wide berth.

***

“But who just _blows up someone’s car_ ?” Peter raged, throwing his hands up. “Like, we weren’t even in it! They didn’t stick around to try and kill us! They didn’t even leave us a note or _anything_!”

“They were probably just trying to piss us off,” Wade said, absently kicking an empty soda can on the ground. “Y’know, toy with us. Lower our morale.”

“Well they sure as hell were successful with that first part! Are you _kidding_ me?!”

Peter let out a scream of frustration and sat down hard on the curb, letting out a quiet wheeze when he misjudged his speed and ended up hurting his ass.

“Look, I’ll figure something out, okay?” Wade said, scratching the back of his head. “There’s gotta be a used car place somewhere around here. Or someone selling an old truck. Just...you stay here, I’ll deal with it.” He slung his bag over his shoulder.

“No, I should go with you,” Peter huffed, making a move to stand up. He squawked in disbelief when Wade pushed him back down.

“It’ll be less suspicious if it’s just one of us,” Wade said, already strutting away.

“But you’ll just end up getting in more trouble!” Peter shouted after him. Wade cheerily waved back at him in response.

Peter let out an irritated growl before trying to get more comfortable on the ground. He had no clue how long it would take Wade to be back, and whether the man would come back with the police hot on his tail.

***

“Wade. What is this.”

Wade grinned widely and threw his arms open proudly. “Do you like it? It only cost me a single hundo. It’s amazing what a lil’ threatening can accomplish.”

Peter didn’t respond, staring in growing horror at the RV.

“Wade, I don’t know how to drive this thing,” he said tightly.

“C’mon, it can’t be that hard! It’ll be a new experience for both of us!”

Wade was already climbing inside. “And we’re turtles now!” he called out, his voice muffled. “We carry our home around with us. How _awesome_ is that? _And_ we don’t need to stop to go to the bathroom. It’s gonna be so much fun.”

Peter took a few deep breaths, closing his eyes. “When I crash and die, you’re paying for my funeral.”

***

Peter grimaced, deleting the last picture he’d taken before raising the camera up to his eye again. This time, the preview on the little screen was satisfactory, and he was quick to snap a few more before heading back to the RV.

Wade was hanging out of the window, wearing his sunglasses and a dopey smile.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Wade said. “You’re just cute as a button.”

Peter attempted to splutter out a response but Wade was already back inside the RV with the window shut.

***

There was only one lofted bed in the RV plus a lumpy couch. Wade insisted that Peter have the bed, since he was the one that actually needed the sleep, but Wade barely fit on the sofa.

Peter had been listening to Wade toss and turn on the sofa for the past half hour. He stared at the ceiling, his irritation at the squeaking of springs and Wade’s frustrated noises growing more and more unbearable by the second. Finally, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“Just--get up here,” Peter huffed. “This is stupid, it’s cold, and there’s no point for you to be stiff.”

Wade didn’t even argue.

He awkwardly clambered up the ladder, nearly elbowing Peter in the nose as he got situated on the bed. He eventually settled on his back, his arm pressed against Peter’s. Neither of them said anything, making an effort to get to sleep.

“I really appreciate how nice you’re being about this whole thing, baby boy,” Wade said softly. Peter glanced at him in the darkness, but the man had his eyes closed. “I know it’s...probably not what you were expecting and I just--thanks. You’re a good dude.”

Peter hummed. “Well, you’re not such a bad guy,” he relented. “I mean, you kinda _are_ , but you did save me and it seems like you’re trying to move on from the mercenary stuff. Which is kinda great.”

“I don’t...I don’t like who I am. Was. Who I’m trying to not be,” Wade swallowed hard, stumbling over his words. “I was a major dickbag. I didn’t really think about it before but now I can’t _stop_ thinking about it. I just...I wanna be better now, y’know? Not do any of this stuff anymore.”

Peter reached out and squeezed his hand. Wade stiffened but then relaxed, entwining their fingers.

“You’re still a dickbag,” Peter informed him with a teasing smile. “Last time I checked, kidnapping someone definitely falls under the ‘dickbag’ category.”

Wade started to protest but Peter hushed him with a laugh, unconsciously leaning further into Wade’s side.

***

They reached Zion National Park with no more troubles, paid the entrance fee, and were soon driving through the hills.

It hurt Peter to be there. The fun times they had had here on every summer break Peter had--there was a photo album in the attic somewhere that only had pictures from these trips.

All he could think of was driving here with Uncle Ben, how excited his uncle was to be taking Peter there. Aunt May had leaned against the car and laughed as Uncle Ben and Peter climbed up some of the rocks, the older man holding Peter’s hand the entire way so he wouldn’t fall. Aunt May and Peter poised with their arms thrown around each other as Uncle Ben tried to take a picture, fiddling with his camera and muttering about it not working the entire time.

“So, uh, where are we planning on doing this?” Wade asked, looking out the windows and inadvertently drawing Peter from his thoughts. “I’ve never done anything like this before. What’s the protocol? Can we just throw the ashes in the air, sing kumbaya, and be done?”

Peter snorted, shaking his head fondly. “We’ll park and walk to a cliff or something. Somewhere nice.”

It took awhile, but they finally found a pullover area that overlooked the beautiful scenery. They parked the car and finally got out, Peter carrying the box. With great care, he opened it and pulled out the sealed bag filled with ashes as he walked closer to the edge.

Peter paused, staring down at the bag. Then he started laughing.

Wade gave him a quizzical look, leaning in. “Uh, what is it?” he asked uncomfortably.

“I...I can’t open the bag,” he wheezed, almost in hysterics as he bent over, laughing until tears ran down his cheeks.  The bag was sealed tightly, with no indication on where or how to open it. Wade stared at him in disbelief before he suddenly snorted and started chuckling as well, running a hand over his eyes.

“If you happen to have a machete on you, I won’t kill you if you let me use it,” Peter managed to gasp out, wiping away a tear from his eye. He wheezed when Wade’s whole face lit up and he did exactly that.

When he gathered himself, Peter held out the bag and Wade made a careful cut into it. Apparently he wasn’t careful enough, though, because the tear widened exponentially and soon the ashes were pouring out. They both screeched, jumping out of the way, and barely managing to escape a faceful of ashes.

Peter couldn’t help but smile as he caught Wade’s eye, and suddenly both of them dissolved into giggles, which quickly became full-bellied laughs, helpless at the ridiculousness of the situation as the wind whipped the ashes out into the canyon. Gradually, their laughter faded and Peter gave a small, bittersweet smile as he stared out into the canyon.

“Do you want some time alone?” Wade asked quietly, his voice shattering the sudden silence.

Peter hesitated a second and then nodded. Wade reached out and squeezed Peter’s hand. “Take all the time you need.”

Wade walked away.  Peter didn’t look away from the view, even though all of the ash had long disappeared.

***

They finally reached Las Vegas, and spent almost half an hour driving in circles, trying to decide what hotel to go to. Wade was dead set on staying at the most expensive, over-the-top room they could get (“C’mon, Petey, it’s not everyday you get to be in Vegas!”), while Peter wanted something more inconspicuous and under the radar, like a crappy motel that wouldn’t ask for IDs and took straight cash.

In the end, they flipped a coin. Wade cheered in victory as Peter sourly drove into the valet area of his chosen hotel.

Peter wasn’t sure how he did it, but Wade managed to book them a suite in one of the fanciest hotels he’d ever stepped into. He felt completely out of place in his grimy clothes and scuffed shoes, but he was still ushered into the elevator and into the room, which wasn’t actually a room, but almost an entire floor of the building.

Peter spun around the room, jaw dropped. “Holy _crap_ , Wade, this is amazing,” he said.

“And _you_ wanted us to stay in a literal shithole,” Wade teased, draping himself over the back of the leather couch. “Isn’t this better? Look, there’s a hot tub _right next_ to the living room--also, our fucking hotel room has a _living room_ , baby boy. But if that hot tub isn’t some rich person swingers BS, then I don’t know what is.”

***

“I’m gonna go find some ice and scope the place out,” Wade called as he walked towards the door, carrying an empty bucket.

“You can probably have room service bring it to you,” Peter replied sleepily from the couch.

“Yeah, but then I wouldn’t get to snoop around, silly.”

Peter snorted, smiling fondly as he pushed his face further into the pillow. _God_ , it was so comfortable.

Wade came back with a very different attitude, his whole body tense. “Go enjoy the hot tub, really quick,” he practically shouted, pulling off his clothing.

Peter looked up at him from the couch in alarm. “Wh--calm _down_ , I don’t wanna get in right now,” he complained. “What’s wrong?”

“Bad people definitely know we’re here right now, but they won’t be able to get their people together for at _least_ another hour,” Wade said. He was down to his boxers as he hopped into the hot tub. “And listen to me, I refuse to leave this place without getting the chance to chill out a little bit in this swinger’s sex tub, okay?”

“Wade, what the _fuck_.”

“When I went to find some ice, I ran into an old friend who was nice enough to help me out. Never let it be said that Neena doesn’t have your back when she owes you. People know we’re here, and we have about an hour before they come and try to shoot up the place. Now, will you let me have a few minutes of relaxation before we go find a new hotel that _doesn’t_ have a private hot tub?”

*******

The motel was dingy, the polar opposite of the hotel they had been staying at only an hour ago. The lady behind the desk didn’t even look at their faces as she took the cash and handed them a key. The couple in the room next door were arguing loudly, but they didn’t pay attention to them. Wade was busy laying out on the bed the most guns and knives than Peter had ever seen in his entire life.

“Are you gonna be alright?” Peter asked.

His cheeks flushed at how inadequate the sentence felt. He might as well should have come out and said, ‘ _hey, how do you feel about most likely dying tomorrow_?’ Wade didn’t seem to particularly mind the clumsy word choice, though.

“I should be,” Wade said with a crooked smile as he kept flitting around the room, putting on a Kevlar vest he’d magically pulled from his bag. _Jesus,_ how big _was_ that thing? “I’m very hard to kill, y’know.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a difference between invincibility and being a cockroach,” Peter countered.

Wade gaped at him, putting a hand over his heart. “Did you just compare me to a _cockroach_?”

“Be offended later, Wade. I’m trying to be serious.”

“You’re the one that started it, not me.”

“ _Wade_. Stop trying to distract me.”

Peter reached out and firmly grabbed Wade’s arm, stopping him from pacing. The man made a move to try to escape, but Peter held firm. Finally, Wade let out a heavy sigh, his head lolling to the side.

“I _should_ be alright,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean, I’ve done this stuff _hundreds_ of times before. It’ll be a helluva fight, knowing those bastards, but I’ll pull through it. I always do, y’know?”

Peter hesitated for only a second before he took a step closer and met Wade’s lips with his. It was only a few seconds, nothing more than soft skin on scarred tissue, but it made Peter lightheaded, his heart thumping in his chest madly.

When he pulled back, Wade’s eyes were shut, and he swayed slightly. He blinked dumbly, mouth agape. Peter’s face was bright red, but he refused to let his nerves get the best of him.

“You gotta promise me that that wasn’t a dramatic goodbye kiss,” Peter demanded, poking him roughly in the chest. “I’m not gonna be the love interest in some angsty romantic movie.”

“Does that mean that this _was_ a romantic movie and not some buddy movie?” Wade asked with awe in his voice as he reached out and took Peter’s hand.

Peter chuckled fondly, resting his head on Wade’s shoulder and moving forward to hug him. “It can be both, you know. But I think any movie involving you is gonna be a rom-com, hands down.”

Wade didn’t respond right away, choosing instead to bury his face in Peter’s hair. Peter could feel the handle of a gun pressing into his side from where it was hidden in Wade’s jacket, but he was surprised to find it didn’t bother him as much as it should. They stayed like that for a while, neither of them saying anything, until Wade finally pulled away.

“If I’m not back by morning, take the van and leave,” he said, looking down, his grip tightening briefly on Peter’s hand. “You see that handgun on the table? That’s for you to use if anything somehow gets back to you. Do you need me to show you how to use it?”

Peter shook his head. Uncle Ben had taken him hunting a few times when he was kid, and he remembered some of the basics. It helped that ‘hunting’ had actually been their codeword for shooting at targets in the woods after Peter had cried for days when he got close to shooting a deer.

“Ya gotta promise me you won’t do anything dumb,” Wade continued. “Just go back to Queens and keep being a total badass, okay?”

Peter bit his lip hard and refused to respond as Wade put on his shoes and left the apartment.

Once he had left, Peter flopped onto of the bed, the springs screeching in protest. The neighbors were fighting again, and he wasn’t in the mood to put up with it. He opened his phone and pressed play, not knowing what song would come up.

He felt like crying and laughing at the same time when the first song that played was Steely Dan. He stared at the ceiling for a while before he felt tears welling up. He threw an arm over his eyes, and let himself choke out a sob. Wade had better make it back in one piece.

***

It was nearing morning when there was a feeble knock at the door, so quiet Peter, half-asleep, thought he had imagined it. But after a few moments, he heard the knock again.

He fumbled out of the bed and grabbed the handgun that Wade had left him. His heart thudded in his ears as he made his way to the door. There wasn’t a peephole that he could look out of, making him mutter a curse.

“Who is it?” he called, cursing the lack of a peep-hole as he desperately tried to keep his voice from wavering in fear.

“Your knight in not-so-shining armor.”

Peter fought with the lock and threw the door open, breath catching in his throat when he saw Wade.

Wade definitely looked like he’d been put through the ringer. His clothing was ripped and stained with blood and dirt. His skin was covered in scrapes and cuts from where he no doubt had wrestled with people. Half of his head, including one of his eyes, had been  wrapped somewhat haphazardly in gauze and he was swaying dangerously, as if he might fall over at any second. Peter rushed to hold him up, keeping a careful arm around Wade’s waist while trying to avoid his injuries.

“Jesus, you look like _hell_ ,” Peter blurted out before he could stop himself.

“Yeah, well you should see the other guys,” Wade said, his laugh breathy and unconvincing.

Peter made to maneuver him to sit on the bed move towards the bed so Wade could lay down, but Wade pulled back a bit, shaking his head.

“We need to go,” he said. “I think I got them all, but better safe than sorry, I think. Don’t wanna have gone through all of that shit only to be killed by some little man with a vendetta.” He spat on the ground, and it was filled with blood.

Peter nodded quickly. “Okay. Okay. Do...do you need to go to a hospital?”

Wade hummed, leaning his head against the doorframe. “Probably,” he said. He shifted and winced in pain. “Alright, yes I do. But I took care of this”--he tried to gesture at his face and ended up almost losing his balance--”which...which was the worst of it. We can’t go to the hospital in Las Vegas. Too risky.”

Peter made sure that Wade was alright to stand on his own before rushing around the room, stuffing things back into his bag. He was done in record time and was back to supporting Wade.

“We’ll find a hospital on the way to my friend’s house,” Peter said, helping Wade towards the car. “She lives a couple of hours away. Do you think you can hold out for that long?”

“Yeah, I can make it,” Wade croaked out, wincing when he sat down on the seat. “Gwen?”

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Huh. You actually listened to me when I was babbling while driving,” he said teasingly, pushing the seatback down and helping Wade buckle in.

Wade let out a wet laugh. “I always listen to what you say, baby boy,” he said, head lolling to the side as he gave Peter a warm grin. “I know a guy near here that can patch me up, no questions.”

Peter swallowed as he started the car. “Just gimme the directions and I’ll get you there,” he said. “Consider me your personal chauffeur. And this time, you don’t even need to have a gun pointed at me.”

Wade snorted. “You’ve been my driver this entire time, you silly man. Didn’t you pick up on that?”

“Did you just call me a _silly man_? This from the man who wears pajamas meant for children and has a goldfish tattooed on his ass?”

“Listen, I thought we promised not to bring that up.”

Peter couldn’t help but let out a hysterical laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re the only person I know who could still be cracking jokes at a time like this,” he said.

Wade shrugged, his shoulder barely moving. When Peter glanced over at him, he saw that the bloodstain on the bandages was starting to spread. Peter swallowed, and forced himself to pay attention to the road, fighting to stay below the speed limit. The last thing they needed to do was get stopped by the police.

Wade touched the bandages on his face, moving slowly. “‘M not gonna be pretty anymore, baby boy,” he murmured. “Not that I was that pretty before. But it’s gonna be ten times worse. _Infinity_ times worse. I’m gonna look like the hellspawn of Jason and Freddy Kreuger. Maybe I should just go ahead and find a group of teenagers to harass. Or just get a tacky mask to hide it all.”

They pulled up to a stoplight and Peter turned in his seat to face Wade. He gently pulled Wade’s bloodied hand away from the bandages. When Wade turned to him, Peter leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips.

“You’ll still be cute to me,” Peter promised, stroking the back of Wade’s hand with his thumb.

Wade’s mouth dropped open in shock before he hissed and closed his jaw. “You can’t say cute shit like that to me when I’m hurt,” he complained loudly. “It hurts to move my face, damn it. How am I supposed to show my astonishment if I can barely talk?”

“Oh, I think you’re fine with talking,” Peter snickered, moving the car forward when the light turned green. “You could be half dead and still be jabbering away. Exhibit A: you right now.”

“Alright, smartass,” Wade grumbled, but there was a small, content smile on his lips. He interlaced his fingers with Peter’s free hand. “Let’s get going, baby boy.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! You can follow me and zach on tumblr at continuitygains and zactopus98, respectively :) And thank you again Lucie, who is Cliophilyra on AO3 <3


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